Breath Of Life
by blytheundercuffler
Summary: Blythe Undercuffler and Clint Barton also known Hawkeye share a tumultuous relationship. Clint BartonxOC oneshot OOC Clint Barton


Clint Barton wasn't well known for relaxing. He was dedicated to his job, after all. But when Clint Barton relaxed, Clint Barton _relaxed. _It was about 9:30 p.m. at his apartment, and he was sitting contently on his couch, running through his mission reviews determinedly. The lights were dim and he was wearing his favorite pajamas of all time; Classic navy tank top and black pants.

While it was his favorite, he hardly ever got to wear it at home. And that was thanks to Blythe, who told him that it was the forbidden fashion rule to ever wear navy blue and black together, "no matter how sexy the guy wearing it was".

He smiled at the thought of her scolding him every time he tried to wear it when they were both at home. But his smile faded when he realized she wasn't home yet. A pang of worry hit him, and he slipped out his phone.

_'She should have been home 20 minutes ago...' _He thought, sliding through the contacts. But just before he found Blythe's, his phone began to ring.

And you wouldn't believe who it was.

"Parker? Why do you have my number?" He asked in slight annoyance. Stupid kid must've gotten it when they had to go on that mission a couple months ago. Somehow.

"Oh, you're wife gave it to me when I saved her like, 10 minutes ago."

"Why would she need t- Wait, what do you mean, 'saved'?" Clint demanded, the worry growing exponentially.

"Okay, so, I was doing my nightly swing around the city, y'know? Well, on my way I saw Blythe getting mugged so I swooped in and pulled her out. You might want to go grab a first-aid kit, though; We're like, right outside of your apartment." Peter finished, hanging up the phone.

Clint's eyes widened and he rushed to hunt down the first-aid, a million questions on his mind. Just when he got it he heard the door open and Peter saying "Hey Arrowhead, you might want to hurry up with that aid kit! She kinda got shot in the knee!"

Clint couldn't have run any faster than he did at that moment.

"You got _shot?" _He managed, taking his alarmingly bloody and unresponsive wife into his arms, and promptly shutting the door...in Peter's face.

"Yeah, you're welcome! Just to let you know, you _so _owe me for that!" He called from outside. He grumbled something incomprehensible before the telltale sign of him "fwipping" off to do whatever a Spider-Man does was heard.

"Blythe, how could this have happened? How did you get shot? Who shot you?" Clint fired off questions, his brow furrowed in concentration. Blythe hummed quietly as he cleaned the blood off her face and covered cuts and wounds with Band-Aids and plaster.

"I'm...not really sure what happened…" She mumbled softly, wincing when he dressed the big, bruising wound on her shoulder. He shook his head.

"This must not have been a normal mugger; You've been jumped before, and you've taken them out real easy. Who could have-"

"I don't care...All that matters is that we fought, I got shot and lost about 50 bucks and a gift card to Kohl's." Blythe muttered, looking rather ticked off. Clint let himself smile slightly. At least she hadn't been so totally jacked up about it; She was still being a smart booty about life, which was, for once, a good sign.

"Yeah, well, it still bugs me that you got shot, and that we don't know who it was. Where'd he shoot you again?"

"Where Spidey covered it up with his web. After I fleshed it out." She mumbled the last part, but Clint glanced up anyways.

"You took the bullet out yourself?! Are you crazy?!"

"Look, I had a pocket knife - which is what I used to fight him off, somehow - and so I took it out. Spidey said he'd never met someone as hardcore as me." She mentioned with a tired laugh. Clint's head shook again, taking the webbing off her knee as gently as he could.

"Still, we can at least change out the bloody webs with a clean bandage, y'know?" Clint replied, wrapping the cloth around the entry wound as gently as he could. Blythe nodded, leaning her head onto his shoulder tiredly.

"Sure, sweetheart...hey, as long as we can go to bed, like, right when you're done." She sighed, nuzzling closer when pain shot through the wound.

"Yeah, sure, Blythe."

"You have to carry me, though."

"What? Not that I have a problem with that, but...why?"

"What, you think I just walked up here on my own?" Blythe quipped as he stood. She laughed quietly as he lifted her gingerly into his arms, bridal style.

"Just like the honeymoon, right, baby?" She joked, wrapping her arms around her neck.

"I guess, but you didn't get shot then."

"I almost did, though."

"Ugh, don't remind me." He groaned, setting her down on the bed gently. "You want me to grab you some pj's or what?"

"Nah, I'll just sleep in a tank and take off my pants. No big deal." She stated, slipping the shirt off and somehow wiggling out of her pants. Clint smirked, slipping into bed next to her.

"Careful, Blythe, that little outfit's a bit too sexy there, don't you think?" He said, pressing a kiss to her lips. "...I might get a little turned on."

"Oh, really? Well, you know what's really not sexy?"

"...What?"

"That nasty black and blue combo you've got going on there."

"How did I know you were going to say that?"

"Because you decided to wear it. C'mon, I might have gotten shot, and I might be exhausted, but that doesn't excuse you from wearing ugly crap."

"Ugh, if you say so, Blythe."

"I do say so. Now do me a favor and go change."

"But Blythe-"

"No buts, or you're sleeping on the couch."

"HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH."

"Oh, don't be such a baby about it."

"...Mmph."


End file.
